


Can I Say It Yet?

by viridian sprout (idyII)



Series: the hero who didn't [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Awkward Sexual Situations, Blue-Purple Hawke (Dragon Age), Cockblocking, Custom Hawke (Dragon Age), F/F, Flirting, Gen, Humor, Love Confessions, M/M, Multi, Sexual Content, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-23 06:54:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23407498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idyII/pseuds/viridian%20sprout
Summary: Fenris has finally left things in the past. He's killed Danarius, he's won his freedom, and he's left his traumas behind. He's finally ready to take a role at Hawke's side and never leave him again.And everyone seems to know it, too. Their friends, random assassins they meet, the city guards, common muggers. Except Hawke. Because they keep getting interrupted every time Fenris is about to either pitifully spill his love out his lips or yank him behind a bookcase.
Relationships: Fenris/Male Hawke, Isabela/Merrill (Dragon Age)
Series: the hero who didn't [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683814
Comments: 1
Kudos: 28





	Can I Say It Yet?

"Wherever it leads, I hope it means we'll stay together," Hawke had said, that damned gentle smile of his on his face, and it was the perfect opportunity for Fenris to open his goddamned mouth and say what he'd wanted to say for months. 

"That is my hope, as well," he started, almost close, "we...we have never-"

The door to his sitting room abruptly burst open again as Aveline came rushing back in. For her, however, rushing simply meant striding at an even faster pace than normal that could bulldoze a man and leave him flatter than a pancake. "Hawke," she began, a familiar furrow in her ginger eyebrows that meant something was awry, "the kennel in Lowtown had another wall break down. There's dogs all over the street."

The moment was completely broken. Fenris felt like someone had abruptly cut a line out from under him, and it made a tiny pit of frustration start to ball up in his stomach. Even more so, because Hawke stopped smiling at him, and turned away, sighing. "Oh, goodness. I'll come down to help right away."

Most people thought it was because Hawke was Fereldan that he was good with dogs, but Fenris begged to differ. His sister Bethany detested the things, saying they were dirty and smelled of the street, and she'd prefer even staying in her Circle chambers to going out with one. Carver seemed mostly indifferent. He'd give one a pat if it passed by, but he wasn't obsessed with them. Aden, well, he would probably give up a mouth-watering amount of gold for the chance to pet a random mongrel.

"Thank you," Aveline replied, sounding more than a bit relieved. Hawke often helped her when it came to dog wrangling. Or monster wrangling. Or wrangling of any kind. Sometimes Fenris became annoyed with just how much Hawke wrangled for people for so little reward.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Fenris," Hawke told him as he stood, with a friendly but a different smile and a nod. "Maybe you can do some celebratory dancing through the rooms."

Despite himself, Fenris cracked a tiny smirk as Hawke left the room with Aveline. Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow he would tell him.

* * *

Tomorrow Fenris did _not_ tell Hawke.

He merely caught a brief glimpse of Hawke as he ran through the Hightown market, Anders and Isabela right behind him, and felt a little bit of jealousy that he was not in Hawke's party today. However, he supposed he'd been hard to find anyway. He'd been scouring any vendors he could find for a certain item, with no small amount of troubles; most thought him a thief or a beggar or simply believed he didn't have any money until he produced a bag full of gold coins. Hawke always shared the rewards from his ventures, so it wasn't as if Fenris was hard up.

He did, however, see Hawke that night- in the Hanged Man, as usual. It was at Aden's insistence that they all gathered at least three times a week for a card game to help them stay connected. It wasn't...easy times, right now. Not with Meredith and Orsino at each other's throats, Hawke always being asked to solve disputes as Kirkwall's _Champion_ , that whole...ordeal with the man's poor mother, and the troubles of the mages in their group. Oh, Fenris knew exactly what Merrill was doing. And he knew Hawke knew it too. Normally, he might be angry that Hawke wasn't doing more, but he saw the way Hawke's hands tensed when he went near Merrill. How he held himself a little straighter and smiled a little more carefully. How he looked between her and Isabela with a certain sad look, with a tinge of hope.

Aden had a soft heart. He hoped the blossom between Merrill and Isabella would save the lass. Fenris couldn't fault him for having a heart like that- not when he wanted to be the one who wrapped himself around it and kept it safe.

And as for Anders...well, none of them really knew what was going on with him. Just that he looked more ragged every week, but still kept up appearances. Just a friendly healer, no, Fenris didn't believe it. Somehow, he knew there was something more dangerous about Anders than even Merrill. Merrill still had some naivety. Even Fenris would admit, perhaps she had enough she would be swayed from her unwise actions. Anders, though...there was nothing naive about him.

Fenris always sat in the same seat. A round table, shoved in the back corner of the tavern, mugs of ale they didn't drink from because it tasted like piss. Beside Hawke, with Varric on the other side. And the others away from him. Fenris couldn't help the need to protect Hawke, even in something as simple as where he sat, even when it came to his friends. Their friends. Was it his friends or their friends?

"Isabela, you've got me again," Hawke joked with a chuckle in his voice, dropping his cards and letting them flutter onto the table. "I can never seem to beat you. Almost seems a little suspicious, doesn't it?"

"Sounds to me like you're just a sore loser, Hawke," she cackled back at him, completely unrepentant. She swept her arm out and brushed all the gold he'd bet onto her little section of the table. Beside her, Merrill let out a tribbling giggle and clapped her hands.

"Well, maybe. After all, where on earth would you be keeping any extra cards?"

"Certainly not in any sleeves," Varric muttered, enough to make the others start snickering again. Isabela grinned, like a shark. She liked to make them laugh. It made them all take the game a little less seriously, which contributed to why she won more. It was also why Fenris never bet much. Aden always bet too much, because deep down, he meant to lose, because he knew none of his friends would accept any outright gifts.

While the others continued tittering about their way, Fenris leaned back in his seat, the squeak of it lost in the ruckus of the Hanged Man. "Hawke," he murmured in the man's ear, covered by a bandana as usual. Aden didn't shiver, but the hair on his neck stood up, making Fenris feel a tiny little thrill of satisfaction. "Can I speak to you outside for a moment? It's loud in here."

"Of course, Fenris," Hawke told him, with the polite smile he used to conceal how he really felt. Fenris knew all of his smiles by now. He got up, throwing a few more coins on the table, and smirked. "Here, you all, buy more piss to drink."

"Oh, patron of generosity!" Varric yelled, rocking in his seat as the others cheered and Hawke left the table. Fenris rolled his eyes, admitting to himself they were at least much less loud than (literally) any other group in the Hanged Man, and followed Hawke to the door.

The sky had turned dark. They'd entered at sunset, but the night air was chilled now, and Fenris saw Hawke shiver. It was a tiny little gesture of one who was used to trudging through the cold but not quite as used to it as Fenris. Granted, Hawke had taken his cloak off, and the leather armor he wore had no sleeves. Instead, he wore gloves that came up to his biceps; as he'd told Isabela, he wanted to showcase his tattoos. One on shoulder, there was, predictably, a hawk rising from flames. On the other, a long eastern dragon in a whirlwind of leaves. But Fenris knew for a fact they ran all the way down to his wrists.

He'd gotten them in white.

 _"Well, I noticed that_ you _notice when people take...notice of you. I figured you might like feeling less like a sore thumb, hmm? What, don't like them?"_

Fenris remembered tracing the lines of them with his tongue, too quickly to truly savor it; he wanted to do it again, slowly, while Hawke's heart rate increased under his hand.

"Fenris, what did you want to talk about?"

Hawke's question brought him out of his reverie. He was leaning against a barrel that sat on the corner of the building, his back to the alley behind him. Fenris moved to stand so he could see into it, subconsciously.

"Right," he began, dredging down any nervousness. "I wanted to talk to you- alone. About...what happened."

"What happened? What- did something happen? Are you all right?" Hawke's brow furrowed in an eerily similar way that Aveline's did. The woman wasn't even much older than him, yet something like a mother. Certainly more than his own mother had been, but Fenris would never hurt Aden by speaking ill of her. It warmed his chest, a little, that concern was the first thing Hawke thought to bring up.

"No, no," he said with a wave of his gloved hand. He hardly ever took off his armor. He supposed it might have added to the weird looks he got. Hawke didn't, either, though, he simply wore a different type of armor. It was made of leather and cloths, with buttons and straps, and a brilliant red sash around his waist. Part of which had gotten torn three years ago and now was wrapped around Fenris' wrist. This, again, reminded him of his purpose. "What happened a few years ago."

In an extremely unlucky moment of rare obliviousness, Hawke raised an eyebrow at him. "What happened a few years ago?"

Fenris opened his mouth to continue, when the door to the tavern slammed open so hard it rattled the foundation of the building. Hawke jumped, Fenris moved closer to him, and more than one person came rushing out to quickly puke in the gutters of the street while uproarious laughter resonated from inside. Egads, Fenris couldn't have this discussion in a place like this.

"Never mind," he said with a grimace, relaxing mildly now that the danger was no danger but just a few idiots. "I can speak with you about it tomorrow morning. I assume you'll be at home?"

"Yes, I usually am on Saturdays," Hawke told him, still looking a little confused. "You can come by anytime before noon. Or anytime you like, really." He paused when he said that, flushing, and Fenris felt- what had Merrill described it as, once- butterflies rising in his stomach. "I mean, well, uh, you can come, but I'll be out to market in the noontime and back at five for the evening. All right?"

Fenris nodded. Hawke pushed off the barrel and walked back to the door, checking to make sure Fenris was following him, as he seemed to constantly do when they went out adventuring somewhere. Fenris wasn't quite offended- he didn't think Hawke worried he would abandon him. He didn't quite know why Hawke did it at all.

Tomorrow, though. The Hawke residence would be free of distractions. Tomorrow would do just fine.

* * *

Aden Hawke was not a man free of temptations. Anders had offered him a night together once, as he'd clearly been building up to. Hawke did have _eyes._ Or rather, one working eye. He often went to see Anders for the other one, and at some point the man's touches had gotten a little bit...tender.

The point was, Hawke had been tempted. He was lonely. Anders was attractive, a friend. But ultimately, he couldn't lie with anyone else after Fenris...not after seeing Fenris wear his markings even while staying away from him. Hawke wanted to ask what that _meant_ , if Fenris meant to stay away, but he said nothing, for the other's sake.

No one ever asked how he'd lost his eye, other than Varric, who he'd told "Lost it in a bet! That dog-darned merchant from Antiva sold it for a sandwich!" It hadn't completely lost its sight, and it had helped a little, seeing Anders, but Hawke had discontinued that. He thought it a bad idea to keep secreting away in the night to see the mage, lest it encourage something. But it was still a rather unseemly sight- his eye, that is- mostly grey with a scar over it, so he covered it with the same bandana he used to cover his ears. No one really needed to know his secrets. The bandana itself was grey, the same color as his hair, so no one really looked twice at it.

But his further point was, he was not free of temptations, and though he wouldn't act on them, they still led to his being embarrassed. This is ultimately what led to his great embarrassment that afternoon, at the hands of a peddler and Orana, no less.

When Fenris arrived, exactly at nine in the morning- what the twats in Hightown would call _scandalously early_ \- Hawke invited him into the front garden, something he'd been taking great pride in caring for. He'd managed to get the flowers to bloom again, and the vines on the front trellises to grow and blossom. There was no fence. That, also, led to his downfall.

They'd just sat down- and Orana had brought them tea and sandwiches, such tiny ones it was hilarious seeing Fenris pick one up with a frown and attempt to eat it- that his downfall began.

"Messere Hawke," she said, with the beginnings of a dangerous tone in her voice, "did you drink at the Hanged Man last night?"

"W-what, Orana?" Hawke replied, a crack in his voice. Fenris raised a curious eyebrow at them both from across the table. He hadn't seen Orana since Hawke had sent her to Kirkwall, so their dynamic was bound to be...unfamiliar. "No, of course not! See, Fenris was there. He can confirm I drank nothing."

Orana turned to Fenris with a frown. He raised an eyebrow. "'Tis true. Neither of us drank anything there; only played cards."

Some of the tension eased from Orana's shoulders. "Good! I thought I smelled it on you. You know you shouldn't have any of the drink there, Messere, it's bad for your health. If you really want something of quality, I will fetch something from the cellar, I always tell you." Behind her, Hawke let out a visible sigh of relief, making Fenris' eyebrow raise further. "Now, I'll leave you two to it," Orana finished with a sudden demure smile, giving them a modest bow and leaving for the front door.

Fenris turned to look at him as soon as she was gone. After a moment, Hawke cracked and gave him a weak smile. "Ah, Orana doesn't like me to have anything she judges bad for my health. You could suppose she is right, you know- sometimes I wonder if the Hanged Man gets their supply from the gutters."

"I am unsurprised at that," Fenris noted dryly, setting down the hilariously small sandwich as if he was never interested in it. "It was her manner that caught my attention. A slave would never domineer her master like that."

"Orana is not a slave!" Hawke burst out on impulse, then paused and flushed when he remembered who he was talking to. "I mean, I told you when we met her I was giving her a job."

Fenris finally cracked a smile. It sent a flutter through Aden's chest. "I know that, Hawke. I simply mean to say it is well you have treated her in such a way she feels comfortable warding you with such ferocity."

"Ah." Relaxing, Hawke sat back in his seat and ran a hand over his braid. Fenris' eyes followed his hand. Sometimes it bothered him that Fenris stared at him so much when he spoke. How was he supposed to concentrate with all that staring? "Yes, it's rather like having a second Aveline that lives with me. Most of the time she is very polite; she was quite quiet when she first arrived, but oh...that temper. I think it was there all along. Did you know she beheaded a chicken for pecking Rosa's eye one time? She was just nosing it, but I suppose the chicken got quite offended. Kind of like Isabela when people tell her about what she should wear. Then, well, snap...Orana just said we were having chicken for dinner anyway."

Fenris' eyebrow had steadily risen through the short little story, but came back down as he smirked. It made Hawke's stomach flip. The expressions that man could make...

"Anyway, what did you want to speak about last night?" he asked, quickly, to change the subject. It seemed to remind Fenris of something. He straightened, setting one hand on the table. Delicately enough his armor didn't pierce the tablecloth. Hawke's eyes followed it, unbidden.

"Right. I wanted-"

At that exact moment, something came careening in the few feet from the sidewalk and nearly made Hawke's heart jump out of his chest. It all happened so quickly, Fenris stood from the table as his hand went to the hilt of his sword, Hawke reached for his bow but remembered it was still in the house, and the threat turned out not to be a threat after all as a merchant came to a sliding stop right in front of him as he was half out of his seat. Hawke relaxed a little, but he had no time to relax.

"Aha!" The man crowed, his profession clear. He wore a pack on his bag with a few knick-knacks sticking out of it and had a book hanging from his belt mostly identical to the ones most merchants in Kirkwall used. "You see, most Hightown loungers are still inside at this hour, but I can tell you are an early riser, no?"

"Uhh...yes?" Hawke replied, not altogether too sure what he _should_ say. Most peddlers could be warded off with a mumbled sentence and rushing off, but this man was just...standing in his garden. He could tell him to leave, but he thought that would be incredibly rude. It would probably get around and make his neighbors dislike him even more. Gods, he hated Hightown politics.

The merchant's eyes raked him up and down and settled back on his face with a smile. "Ah. Must have a lot of energy then, hm?"

Hawke certainly wasn't dumb, and he could certainly feel the innuendo in _that,_ and how devious it was, sounding so innocent. "Ah-"

"But that's not the point. A man as pretty as you must be interested in some fine wares, yes?" It clicked and made sense, at that moment, as the man had a flashy necklace around his own neck and the bobbles sticking out of his pack were jewelry. "In fact, I think I have the perfect thing. It would look rather...nice, on your neck."

As he spoke, he reached down and pressing his index finger against the pulse of Hawke's throat, then dragged it up all the way up to his chin.

(Across the table, it cranked under Fenris' hand as he sat there with one eyebrow pulsing. Hawke took no notice of this.)

As he'd noted, Hawke wasn't immune to attractive men. And this man was very attractive- unlike how most scammers seemed to be so gaunt looking- and Hawke hadn't been flirted with in earnest in years, and he could feel heat rushing to his ears, which reminded him of when he was a gawky teenager who didn't know how to react to things, and now he could tell his face was truly all red like a tomato and he was not handling this in the suave way a Champion of Kirkwall should rebuff someone. If he wanted to rebuff someone. And since no one else had touched him in three years, it only served as a reminder of the someone who'd touched him before that three years.

"Uh- I, uh, well, uh, ah- no- eb- uhn, no thank you?" he blurted out, in the most humiliating way, as he fell back into his chair and felt the heat in his face spreading. Gods, gods, gods. At least he'd managed to say no. But the merchant wasn't moving and was probably the irritatingly persistent kind. "Um- no." He frantically looked over at his friend for assistance, begging the gods for just one mercy. 'Help' was clearly in his tone. Fenris was an asshole all the time! He could asshole-away pretty much anyone.

As soon as he locked eyes with Fenris- who looked, at the moment, about as dark and brooding as Hawke had ever seen him, which set off something like a bell in his head, or maybe an alarm- something in the elf's expression changed. He shot up from his seat, was halfway across the distance between them, and his arm had begun to glow when a loud clap startled the crap out of all of them.

"I _say_ , serah! How untoward! Remove your filthy hand from Messere's vicinity immediately, I doubt you have even washed it after arriving in your travels! Furthermore, you neglected to ask for entrance to the garden, where are your manners?" Orana shrilled while slapping the man's hands away, having somehow appeared out of nowhere. Hawke would have sworn she'd used a teleportation spell if he didn't know better.

"Ah - apologies - is this- is this your servant?" the man managed to get out while being snapped at with a towel, shielding himself.

Sinking further into his seat, Hawke covered his face out of embarrassment. Egads. "My caretaker," he groaned, out of sarcasm, but was paid not much attention.

"Here, Orana," Fenris suddenly said, making Hawke open two of his fingers to look up at them. He sounded oddly...calm. And he looked so, too. It was odd- he'd looked ready to cook up a storm mere seconds ago. Yet there was a hint of a tiny smile on his face- a sadistic one that Hawke had seen before. "Step aside."

Staring at him for a moment, Orana moved away and let him take her place. Then his hand was in the merchant's chest.

Hawke startled so badly at the man's scream he nearly toppled over his chair. Orana stepped back, with slightly widened eyes, but didn't look much disturbed.

"If you ever come within fifty feet of this property again I _will_ tear your heart out," Fenris snarled into the man's face, teeth bared. "Understood?"

Mouth wide open in pain and horror, all the peddler could do was nod in terror. Fenris dropped him, without any blood on his hand for once, and he laid there gasping on the grass. "What did I tell you?"

The man nodded rapidly and crawled away as fast as he could. The three of them stood- and sat- there watching him until he'd rounded the corner of the street, none of them saying anything.

Finally, Hawke let out a sigh of relief and moved a hand over his beating heart. _I should not find that attractive. I should not find that attractive._ Maybe if he repeated it enough to himself, his heart would listen and be calm whenever Fenris snarled threats.

"Gods, I need a nap already and it's not even noon. Can Kirkwall be normal for once?" he mumbled, rubbing his forehead.

Orana straightened at once. She seemed to take no notice of his downfall of embarrassment. "Messere Hawke," she said, sounding worried as she rushed over and placed a hand on his forehead to check his temperature. "You should rest. You know your-"

"It's fine, Orana," Hawke said, too quickly, and he knew it; Fenris turned to him with narrowed eyes. "Actually, though, can we talk...later? I do need to go...lay down for a spell."

"What's the matter? Are you sick?" Fenris frowned at him. He knew Hawke was no weak thing, having seen him trek through cave after cave splattered in dried blood and mud. The concern on his face was clear.

"No, no, it's fine- just- not getting enough sleep lately. You're welcome to plenty more food if you'd like." Hawke stood, ignoring his shaking hands and Orana grabbing his elbow for support. The shaking wasn't from fear, or tiredness. That little debacle certainly had zapped his energy seeing as he'd slept barely an hour the night before, but seeing Fenris like that...in _his_ defense, particularly, that was enough to make him need to go shut himself in his room. "In fact, why don't we go to market together later? Unless- you have something to do."

"No, nothing in particular," Fenris noted, sounding especially dry. He seemed irritated about something. Well, at least it wasn't something Hawke had done, because Fenris was a direct person; he always told the person he didn't like that he didn't like them.

"Perfect! I have nothing in particular to do either." _Or anyone_. "I'll be back in a jiffy."

"Please never use that phrase again, Messere," Orana said as she led him inside.

"Why not? I hear it's fashionable."

"It makes you sound fifty."


End file.
